


Exile

by claire_debonair



Category: Merlin (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-25 21:33:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/643192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/claire_debonair/pseuds/claire_debonair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur hasn't seen Merlin in a year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Exile

**Author's Note:**

> Sparked by this picture. http://i37.tinypic.com/5mh3cj.png

Arthur hasn't seen Merlin in a year.  
  
He's seen Morgana catch herself a fraction too late one too many times, seen Gaius carefully shut books with no titles and seen the smoke from Druid fires.  
  
But nothing of Merlin.  
  
He's heard snatches of scared, whispered conversations, heard his father raging about the increase in reports of magic being used and heard fragments of old stories.  
  
But nothing of Merlin.  
  
There's unrest everywhere, and it began long before Merlin burned his way out of a dungeon and left Camelot. The cooling puddles of melted stone mean doubled watches for months and Arthur overseeing the training of as many new knights as Uther could afford.  
  
Uther never asks, and Arthur never tells, but he knows that Merlin won't attack. Many others do; lesser sorcerers one and all, each and every one falling beneath the blade of a man Arthur has taught. Arthur understands, too late, that Merlin had more power in one slow smile than they have in all of the spells they throw at the walls of Camelot, and that he will never use it as they do.

 

* * *

  
  
It wears Uther out, too old and too tired for another war against magic. More than once Arthur comes across him on the battlements at night, staring out into the darkness with one hand on the hilt of his sword.  
  
Arthur always steps away silently.

 

* * *

  
  
He dreams, sometimes. Memories and wishes all mixed in together, until sometimes he wonders if this is how Morgana feels. He doesn't ask her, knows it is still more than their lives are worth to share that secret. Instead he turns a blind eye when her chambers stop smelling of Gaius' potions and her eyes become heavily shadowed.  
  
Uther paces the battlements all night for a week before Arthur dreams of Merlin saying things that are part of no memory or wish, eyes ringed with gold as Arthur never saw them. He awakens with his dagger in hand, panting mingling with the sound of a fire that he doesn't remember lighting crackling.  
  
Arthur climbs the stairs upwards and joins Uther at the stone parapet. "She's not coming," he says, and watches his father crumple. They don't discuss it, but the understanding passes between them that Arthur knows, and that Uther claims the guilt of it for himself.

 

* * *

  
  
The next morning it is Arthur who leads the council, who organises the guards and holds audiences. Nothing is done differently, and yet the very air of Camelot tastes different somehow.

 

* * *

  
  
After that there are no more attacks. Arthur still sees the Druids fires, catches Morgana watching the smoke rise above the trees with a wistful expression she hides well, but there are no more sorcerers at the gates of Camelot.  
  
He knows, deep in his bones, what is happening. There are too many warnings from neighbouring kings of sorcerers travelling through their lands towards Camelot, sorcerers who never reach him, for Arthur to not understand.  
  
It is his turn, then, to pace the battlements and watch the land for signs. He keeps dreaming of Merlin laughing at him, and Arthur knows he'll see nothing until it is time.

 

* * *

  
  
When enough time has passed in safety Camelot returns to a more settled life, leaving time for pursuits other than military matters.  
  
The forest is as familiar to Arthur as his armour, and hunting in it is second nature. Yet now it is different; it feels more alive, as if something has been woken there, and Arthur finds himself placing his feet with more care than usual.  
  
Stalking a deer, the rest of the hunting party a little way off on trails of their own, Arthur's hands clench around the stock of his crossbow. here are eyes upon him, eyes that were not there a moment ago and which will be gone as soon as he moves. If he were quick enough he could catch a glimpse, perhaps a flash of black hair and blue eyes, but he isn't.  
  
The most fleeting of touches to the back of his neck makes him shiver, and when he turns there is nothing but the echo of Merlin's laughter.

 

* * *

  
  
How Merlin knows Arthur does not ask, at least not then, but he returns to Camelot on the eve of Arthur's coronation. There is sorrow still etched on tired faces from Uther's passing only a week before, but Arthur's shoulders feel lightened. He feels the return of the power he hadn't recognised or understood long before Merlin reaches him, and meets him with a bare head and empty hands.  
  
They look the same, the Prince and his servant, but this time they are equal, the King and his sorcerer. The fire leaps from the hearth and climbs the wall above as Arthur' reaches out for something he has only touched in dreams, the stones beginning to glow with heat as he drowns himself in the feel of Merlin's hand on his neck, in the magic surrounding them and the intensity of their kisses.  
  
They both understood too little too late, and now is the time to make up for it.

 

* * *

  
Arthur is crowned as all watch, his oaths binding him to Camelot until he should die; he doesn't need to look to know that Merlin's eyes flash gold as he swears to protect the land and its people until the end of his life.  
  
Merlin stands at Arthur's side, and more than just the weight of the crown settles on him.

 

 


End file.
